


Out of the Woodwork

by triplyknown



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Making Out, idk it's just tired boys kissing, let gansey be kissed!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 00:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12311376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplyknown/pseuds/triplyknown
Summary: Gansey had always felt as if there were two of him: the Gansey who was in control, able to handle any situation, able to talk to anyone, and then, the other, more fragile Gansey, strung out and unsure, embarrassingly earnest, driven by naive longing-they should not be kissing but they are and gansey is surprised to find he doesn't mind it





	Out of the Woodwork

**Author's Note:**

> this is very soft and self indulgent i'm sorry  
> it's also my first fic so i'd love to hear any thoughts slash criticism slash call out posts for me you have

Gansey couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t unusual. Gansey could almost never sleep. He was one of the most restless sleepers he knew, second only to Ronan who spent his nights doing anything but dreaming. Gansey hadn’t always been like this: too anxious to sleep, too tired to do anything else, but as the year stretched on and Glendower seemed no closer to being found, the nights had only gotten longer and he had only gotten pulled thinner and thinner.

He told himself he wouldn’t break.

It wasn’t that Gansey wasn’t tired- far from it. (He didn’t have room to complain, Gansey told himself. This was nothing compared to what Adam _(oh, Adam) _went through every day.) It was just that something inside him wouldn’t switch off, wouldn’t let him stop thinking and moving and planning. Sometimes, just before he drifted off to sleep, Gansey would sit up suddenly and listen hard for the steady sounds of Henrietta at night: the frogs and the crickets and the whirl of the stars above. Something to ground himself here in this place and time, before he got thrown to the other end of the universe.__

Death was a difficult concept to wrap one’s mind around and Gansey’s own death was no exception. Days continued disappearing before his eyes. He was no stranger to living on borrowed time, but.

_But._

Glendower still remained elusive.

They weren’t out of the woods yet.

The glowing green clock said 1:31. Gansey sighed, sat up in his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. He could hear the slight rustling of Ronan, probably awake in his room, the creaking of Monmouth’s old floorboards, the faint whistle of wings that he had grown to associate with Chainsaw.

As long as he was awake, Gansey reasoned, he might work on his miniature Henrietta. All of Henrietta where he could see it, where he could reassure himself that it wasn’t going anywhere even if he was. That helped, sometimes. He slipped out of bed and padded towards the center of the room on socked feet. Monmouth was too big sometimes; too dark in the corners and echoey in the shadowy places which Gansey couldn’t quite see into without his glasses. Gansey felt very small and unimportant. He suddenly wished for company.

The dark streets of Gansey’s private Henrietta would have been unfamiliar to most people, but Gansey had spent enough sleepless nights pacing back and forth and worrying at his lower lip with his thumb to navigate it perfectly. _King of Henrietta_ , the shadows whispered, or maybe it was his imagination. _Make way for the Raven King._ The room seemed to be growing around Gansey, stretching out into an infinite darkness.

Gansey started when he heard a footstep from behind him, but of course it was only Ronan who stood in the doorway and looked at Gansey. His eyes were dark and he chewed on his lower lip with a kind of frenetic energy but he looked like Gansey's Ronan, which meant he didn't look like Kavinsky's Ronan, which meant things would be okay tonight.

There was a question in Ronan's guarded expression but Gansey didn't think he had the answer. Nevertheless, he gave Ronan a tired smile and nodded at him. Ronan could never sleep either. It didn’t usually seem to bother him but Gansey could read his exhaustion in the darkness under his eyes the next day, the slope of his shoulders, his foot on the gas pedal in the cold moonlight. Gansey _worried._

He worried now, leaning against the windowsill, as Ronan crossed the room. He navigated through miniature Henrietta about half as carefully as Gansey had, but managed to not destroy any major landmarks. Ronan knew the layout of this room just as well as Gansey did. Neither of them had grown up in this place but they had both grown together in it and that was somehow more important. Ronan leaned against the windowsill next to Gansey. Gansey wanted to say something to him but he didn't quite have the words. They rested there for a few moments, watching the stars wink. Then Gansey started to ask a question and Ronan kissed him.

Gansey had not been expecting this. He made a soft, aborted noise in the back of his throat and to his horror, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Ronan and letting his eyes close briefly. He thought, stupidly, that at least he would not die without having kissed Ronan. Ronan was so solid and permanent and _there_. Gansey wanted badly to give into him. He thought maybe Ronan was drunk. He knew Ronan would rather be kissing someone else. It was selfish and weak and pathetic of him to kiss Ronan back, even now when there was no alcohol on Ronan’s tongue. Ronan's job was to do things like this: brave things. Gansey's job was to say _Stop that, Ronan_.

He did not say _Stop that, Ronan_.

When Ronan pulled away, he tugged a little at Gansey’s lower lip and Gansey couldn’t stop the noise that escaped from somewhere low in his throat, soft and wanting. He opened his eyes.

 _How awful,_ he thought.

Gansey ran his thumb over his lower lip and flushed royally. He chuckled a little to diffuse the situation. This usually worked for Gansey, chuckling. It didn’t work. When he looked up at Ronan (who was very tall, Gansey suddenly felt very small), Ronan was looking back at him with something new in his eyes. It wasn’t disdain ( _thank God for small blessings,_ Gansey thought). It wasn’t the hungry expression of Kavinsky's Ronan either. It was the question from earlier and now Gansey could answer it. He wanted to say something to Ronan but he didn't trust himself to speak.

Gansey hesitated and then, resolve vanishing, he nodded and Ronan kissed him again. He felt very small and somewhat awful. There was something terribly un-Ganseylike about wanting to be kissed. Or maybe it was one of the only things that was truly Ganseylike. He wasn’t quite sure yet.

Then Ronan started kissing down Gansey’s neck and Gansey had no more room in his brain for deciding what was or was not Ganseylike. His breath hitched and he sank against the windowsill, grabbing it to keep himself upright. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that Ronan had done this before and he thought dreadfully of white sunglasses and fast cars.

Gansey tilted his head back and his eyes fluttered shut. His hands clutched at Ronan's shirt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he worried that he seemed to needy, too wanting. Kavinsky was never needy or wanting. Ronan pressed his lips to Gansey’s skin and Gansey's breath caught in his throat. He should tell Ronan that he was okay. He should tell Ronan that Ronan should be asleep. He should tell Ronan that he didn’t have to do this, probably _shouldn’t_ be doing this. Ronan did something with his tongue on the side of Gansey’s neck, and Gansey decided he should stop thinking for a while.

When Ronan reached Gansey’s collarbone and kissed the hollow there, lapping at it softly and gently, Gansey made another noise, low in his throat. He wanted to cry, it felt so good. If Ronan was embarrassed, he wasn't showing it.

Ronan nipped at the soft skin where Gansey’s neck and shoulder met. Gansey never wanted him to stop. It almost felt like being touched somewhere he was a tiny bit ticklish: the heightened awareness. He could still feel Ronan’s lips in places Ronan had just kissed. He tried very hard not to tremble.

Ronan kissed Gansey’s shoulder, where his white cotton pajama shirt had slipped off. He kissed the moles on Gansey’s collarbone. He kissed at Gansey’s jawline and Gansey closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath leaving him in a hiss. He kissed the spot just below Gansey’s ear because he was still fundamentally an asshole and he knew Gansey was ticklish there. Gansey fought a shiver.

When Ronan made his way back up Gansey’s neck (producing an interesting variety of Gansey noises) and back to his lips, Gansey reached first and kissed Ronan. In case he hadn’t gotten the message, Gansey verbalized it. “Thank you,” he said in a half-whisper, so as not to scare Ronan away. Ronan would know what he meant. Ronan always knew what he meant. And then: “Ronan, you should be asleep.”

“And dreaming?” answered Ronan, raising an eyebrow and leaning back against the windowsill next to Gansey. He was Ronan as usual, all sharp elbows and black ink. _No,_ Gansey thought, _not quite Ronan as usual._ “I’m okay. Parrish’s okay. The maggot’s okay. Noah’s already dead so he’s about as okay as he can get. We’re all okay.”

Gansey remembered his approaching death. He wondered if they would stay okay without him to look after them. _You aren’t that important,_ he thought fiercely, pushing back tears. _They will be fine._

Ronan pushed away from the counter and Gansey followed him. He couldn't do anything else, really, not in this state. Without a discussion, they both made their way towards the bed in the center of Gansey’s room. Gansey was suddenly very tired.

Ronan climbed into bed first and looked back at Gansey. His eyes were dark but his mouth was soft and he looked less than dangerous in a big white cotton shirt. Gansey’s heart seized suddenly. Ronan was so young. They all were, really.

“Hurry up already, it’s cold,” Ronan grumbled, not without kindness, and Gansey’s resolve disappeared for the second time that night. He padded over to the bed and climbed under the covers. His side of the bed was cold and Gansey wiggled closed to Ronan, who obligingly reached an arm out and hugged Gansey to him, sleepily.

Gansey had not realized until now how very much he wanted to be held. This seemed unkingly and slightly embarrassing so he neatly avoided looking at Ronan by burying his face in Ronan’s neck and snuggling into his collarbone. Ronan didn’t smell like he used to when they were younger, but he didn’t smell bad either. He was part dreamer, part raven, all boy. Gansey wished for that kind of permanence.

He felt very small and fragile somehow, in Ronan’s arms. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Ronan was drifting into sleep now and his breathing was steady and reassuring against Gansey’s chest. His fingers idly stroked through Gansey’s hair and Gansey tingled from his scalp to his toes. He wanted to purr but on a hypothetical list of Things That Are Undignified for Gansey to Do, purring because Ronan Lynch was playing with his hair was probably number one, so he settled for sighing slightly and pressing his nose into the place where Ronan’s neck met his shoulder.

Ronan’s chest was pressed against his in a comfortingly warm and solid way. Gansey did not allow himself much, but he allowed himself this: to sink into the feeling, to let his muscles relax under Ronan’s touch, to let his breathing slow, to let himself be pulled back together.

**Author's Note:**

> title from woodwork by sleeping at last  
> hit me up on tumblr @sleebie okay thx bye


End file.
